


Oh, Calamity!

by kxllington



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hiatus, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Songfic, pain™
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 10:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10092020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kxllington/pseuds/kxllington
Summary: when i was younger i was certain i'd be fine without a queenjust a king inside his castle with an ocean in between





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been listening to Oh, Calamity! by All Time Low for almost a week straight. Here's the result. I'm going to bed, enjoy homie ✌️

///////

When Pete was younger, he was certain he'd be fine without a queen. He always pictured himself as a king, sitting alone inside his castle, ruling his land with an ocean between himself and anyone else. He relished in the thought, in his teenage years. Nobody telling him no, nobody wanting anything from him. Being alone in an empty castle felt like freedom.

Then, Patrick came into his life. The kid in the argyle sweater turned his world upside down with his voice. For the first time in his life, Pete's imaginary castle's drawbridge was down, allowing a golden-voiced prince to enter in. And for a while, they were happy. They toured the globe, playing shows, and spending almost every day in each other's company.

But suddenly, Pete was left counting the miles between himself and Patrick, meticulously. A hiatus had barricaded his castle, trapping him in his own solitude.

Pete could feel himself getting older by the hour, but paid no mind to it. The only thing he cared about was the fact that he knew Patrick was feeling the same, but Pete couldn't see it happening. He'd watched him go from a scared kid to a sad young man, and knowing that he wasn't going to get to continue observing the chronology of Patrick's life unfolding planted an ache deep within his chest. 

Pete wallowed in his own misery, waiting for the night to start so he could head out to some bar and make mistakes, so he could drink and forget about his love for Patrick, forget about his band, forget about himself. Even though he knew, deep down inside as he drunkenly picked up the nearest guy or doll, that he'd hate himself for it in the morning when he inevitably woke up alone, in an empty bed.

Where you've been is who you are, right?

Alone and empty.

If he was just going to be alone in the end anyways, why did Pete even bother to set the scene? Why did he let himself picture his mental drawbridge falling, creating a clear path for the golden-voiced prince with the blue eyes to cross? Why did he go so far as to imagine the prince crossing gracefully, and into the waiting arms of the lonely old king? It had all been for naught.

They played strangers, now.

They hardly had anything left to change what they'd become, either. Pete had ruined it, had hollowed out their relationship and friendship until it was empty, like him. Fall Out Boy had paused on good terms, but Pete and Patrick hadn't. 

Pete knew Patrick needed his space. The boy had a lot on his plate; stress, depression, anger issues, his and Pete's attempt (and ultimate failure) at love, alcoholism, the list went on. And so, Pete gave him that space. But, all of a sudden, it was as if they'd never met, and it broke Pete's heart.

It was such a shame that they'd built a wreck out of him. A calamity.

But the thing that hurt the most, that twisted the knife in his back with finality, was that his golden Patrick could have been feeling the exact same way, at the same moment he had. All because Pete had never picked up the phone to cal, and was soon too terrified to.

Pete remembered how his nights alone once went. Soft singing crackling over phone lines, and waking up to dial tones. He had always found his greatest moments in the sounds of Patrick's groggy "hello's". Now, Pete struggled to recall any reason Patrick had to leave.

Or, at least, he pretended to. He knew it was his own fault, somewhere deep inside. 

He had spent nearly three years inside his own head. Three years, banging on the drawbridge, screaming to be set free, and for his golden prince to return. And one day, as if God was finally listening, they met at a bus stop on a corner. 

Pete knew he'd changed a bit over the years. He'd stopped relaxing his hair, stashed his eyeliner in a bathroom drawer and had forgotten about it. He'd taken a break from being a celebrity, spending his days cooped up in his room, scribbling in notebooks and mourning his past.

But Patrick was a whole new person. His hair was bleached, fluttering in the breeze. Thin, pale arms peeked out from a rolled, crisp, dress shirt. His deft, ever-calloused fingers were loosely curled around the handle of a plastic shopping bag, from the nearby record store. He sat, silently on the bench, bus ticket scrunched in his hands and eyes trained on the sidewalk.

Would he even know who Pete was? Did he even look vaguely familiar to him? Would he offer him a seat? Could they find a new beginning? Would Patrick turn the other cheek?

Questions and queries battered around the inside of Pete's skull, rattling the chains that attached the drawbridge to the castle, drowning out the cries of the weary king. 

He and Patrick made eye contact.

Patrick smiled, tinged with sorrow. He patted the space beside him three times. 

Pete's heart stopped. His legs moved on their own accord, and his mouth made words before his brain could think them.

"Patrick."

"Hi, Pete."

A beat of silence passed between them, tense as lungs burning for air as they're held.

"I still love you. I'm sorry."

Patrick's face crumpled at Pete's words. He let his bag slip from his grasp, throwing his arms around the other boy, desperately. 

"Don't be sorry."

Inside Pete's head, the barricade on the drawbridge disappeared. The king let out a sob of relief. He lowered the bridge, opening his fortress to the rest of the world, to the golden-voiced prince, who was far off in the distance, perched atop his valiant steed.

"Oh, miracle! Oh, calamity! Come back to me!" 

The king's soulful pleas echoed, tendrils of sad, sweet sound embracing the kingdom.

And, finally, after all those years, the golden-voiced prince heard him, and began to sing back.

///////


End file.
